


Cards of Fate

by RedThistle



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Timelines, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, BAMF Kujo Jotaro, Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Canon Crossover, Crack Crossover, Crossover, Divergent Timelines, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders, JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 4: Diamond is Unbreakable, Joseph Joestar Being a Little Shit, Kakyoin Noriaki Needs a Hug, Minor Higashikata Josuke (JoJo: Diamond is Unbreakable)/Nijimura Okuyasu, Nijumura Okuyasu Deserves Love, Old Joseph Joestar, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Outsider, Part 4 Kujo Jotaro | 4taro, Phil Coulson Has the Patience of a Saint, Post-JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders, Post-JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 4: Diamond is Unbreakable, Pre-JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 3: Stardust Crusaders, Pre-JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 4: Diamond is Unbreakable, Pre-JoJo's Bizarre Adventure Part 5: Vento Aureo, SHIELD, Speedwagon Foundation (JoJo), Stands (JoJo), Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid, Timeline What Timeline, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:55:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25151230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedThistle/pseuds/RedThistle
Summary: “What the hell is a Stand and who decided on that stupid name?”Five times an avenger encountered a Stand user + the one time they actually saw a Stand.ORMarvel’s Bizarre Adventure
Relationships: Clint Barton & Phil Coulson, Higashikata Josuke (JoJo: Diamond is Unbreakable)/Nijimura Okuyasu, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark & Steve Rogers
Comments: 46
Kudos: 313





	1. Bruce Banner and Muhammad Avdol

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings and salutations to you few individuals who will click on this fanfiction.
> 
> Welcome to Cards of Fate, a crossover between JoJo's Bizarre Adventure that I impulsively wrote for my brother from another mother.  
> I don't really have much to say here except that I fiddled with the timeline of JJBA in order to fit the timeline of the MCU.
> 
> The events of Stardust Crusaders take place in _2008_ in this story. I’m also making Jotaro 18 in Stardust Crusaders. This means in 2016 Jotaro would be 26. The events of Diamond is Unbreakable will take place in 2018. In 2018 in this universe, Josuke would be 16. Nothing is changed in the timeline for the MCU. 
> 
> Since I have not watched Part Five yet, there are no Stands from Part 5. Please don't spoil it for me.
> 
> Anyway, those are all the announcements I have for the moment. Without further ado, chapter one.

**_Cairo, Egypt, 2007._ **

Bruce woke up with a parched throat and an aching body and no recollection of anything that had happened for the past 24 hours. He blinked his eyes open, looking around. He was on a bed, dressed in a long tan robe— a galabeya, his brain provided. A ceiling fan slowly spun above him. Light streamed through a window partially blocked by a dresser framed with off-white walls. Where was he?

Suddenly, he was hit with a flood of memories. He’d been in a small desert city in North Africa, on his way to Egypt. While leaving the market, he had been accosted by thieves, one of which had hit him in the face with a rock. Then, green. Bruce suddenly felt vaguely sick. The Other Guy had surely destroyed the whole city and killed those people without a moment of hesitation. He knew the army would be looking for him, now surely. He’d alerted them of his location and he would meet their tranquilizer darts soon enough.

Bruce let out a low groan of frustration and sat up, burying his face in his hands. He needed to go, and quickly. Before he could get up, the door opened and a tall man strode in. He had a glass of water in his hand, long red sleeves of his overcoat pulled away to reveal several silver bracelets. The man was dark-skinned, hair done in Bantu knots. He had two twin scars on opposite sides of his nose, a faintly curious expression alight in his dark eyes as he gazed down at Bruce.

 _“Drink,”_ the man ordered in Arabic. Bruce blinked, then slowly took the offered glass. He was parched, but he didn’t know if the drink had been tampered with in any way. He took a subtle sniff, squinting at the liquid before deciding it was probably fine and slowly sipped about half of the cool water.

 _“Thanks,”_ he replied back in slightly stilted Arabic, placing the glass on the bedside table. He’d been hiding in North Africa for some time now, but he unfortunately still found his Arabic to be quite lackluster. His accent and verbal awkwardness were sure to always point him out as a foreigner.

 _“An American,”_ the man stated, crossing his arms. “For your benefit, we may converse in your tongue,” he said, though not unkindly, switching to accented English.

“Oh, no it’s fine-“ Bruce stammered, only to be cut off with a tut.

“Nonsense, sir. My name is Muhammad Avdol. I found you naked in the desert and brought you to my farm to help you. You’ve been asleep for nearly twenty-eight hours. You must be hungry, sir. Come and eat.”

Bruce slowly nodded, pulling the covers off himself and rising to his feet. He wavered uncertainty for a moment before finally finding his balance. Avdol made no move to help him, something he was extremely grateful for because he didn’t know how he would react to being touched at the moment. “Um...where are we?”

“Cairo,” Avdol said, turning and making his way out of the room as Bruce shuffled after him.

Well, that was...good, he guessed. At least he had made it to his destination, even if he had to leave shortly. “Oh.”

“Where did you travel from?”

“A...uh...small town not far back.” At least, he didn’t think it was far back. “I was attacked by bandits, and I don’t know what happened.”

“It seems they robbed you clean,” Avdol commented and Bruce let out a slightly forced chuckle.

“Yeah…” he rubbed the back of his head in a sheepish manner as Avdol continued, gesturing for him to sit down at the table in what appeared to be a dining room. The Egyptian man walked into another room for a moment, returning with two plates. “For a moment I wasn't sure if you were going to return to us, but it seems the cards aligned in your favor.”

Bruce thought it was a slightly odd comment to make, but he wasn’t very concerned about it because he was more preoccupied with the aroma of food that wafted to his nostrils and reminded him just how hungry he was. “It smells delicious. What is it?” he inquired, eyeing the assortment of egg and meat and pita that was placed in front of him.

“ _Basturma wi baid._ One would typically eat it with their hands, though I can bring you a fork if you would like. Or-“ Avdol’s voice took on a tinge of amusement. “Nevermind.”

Bruce was aware that he ate like a starved man after transformations. The sheer amount of energy that it took for him to turn into the Other Guy was ridiculous, which led to him sleeping for many hours and eating enough for three meals. What was laid in front of him was clearly not even close to enough necessary to replenish the calories that he had burned, but every bite helped.

“You're quite the voracious eater,” Avdol commented, merely watching Bruce gulp down the last of his eggs.

Bruce flushed red, briefly wringing his hands together. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been the most polite guest. I’m uh...my name’s Bruce.”

“What brings you to Cairo, Bruce?”

Bruce hesitated. He’d been on the run long enough to know not to trust just anyone who was kind to him. He couldn’t just divulge the fact he was a fugitive to anyone.

“You’re running from something, yes? Your past? You did something you regret, broke the laws of nature. You’ve become-“ Avdol paused as if considering. “- a beast?”

Bruce felt his stomach roll violently, heart jumping into his throat as he stared at the other man. Every part of him was screaming at him to flee as fast as he could before he landed himself into deep trouble. He gripped the table, eyes narrowed slightly as he asked, “And you said you’re a farmer?”

“No,” Avdol replied, a mischievous twinkle to his eyes. “This is merely my father’s farm. I’m a fortune-teller.”

Before Bruce could answer, there was a knock on the door. Avdol rose, his features schooling into something more noncommittal as he left the room.

_“Hello?”_

_“Hello sir, we’re with the United States military,”_ Bruce’s heart dropped like a stone. He couldn’t move, barely dared to breathe in fear that the soldiers would somehow see him through a solid wall. He was absolutely terrified by the efficiency of Thaddeus Ross. It had been just under thirty hours and he already had men mobilized and on his track, tracing him down to the exact location that he had found refuge at. _“We’ve had reports of a sighting of a fugitive in this area and we’re going door to door– figuratively speaking– looking for our man. He is about 5’8”, brown-haired, brown-eyed. American. He may be calling himself Bruce. He’s extremely dangerous.”_

Avdol hmmed. If Bruce was sold out here, he was caught for sure unless he wanted to wreck his way through his host’s house. _“Unfortunately, I cannot help you. My father and I live at this farm, and he’s gone on a brief trip, leaving only me. I haven’t seen the man you are describing. Good day.”_

Bruce let out a long breath, some of the tension leaving from his shoulders. He knew he wasn’t in the clear yet, but at least Avdol was an ally.

_“Your neighbors told us that they saw you arrive back home with another man less than 2 days ago and that the man hasn’t left.”_

_“My neighbors are mistaken. I’ve done no such thing.”_

_“Do you mind if we check your house?”_

_“Yes, of course, I mind. I must ask you to leave my property. You’ve asked your questions. Your American friend is not here.”_

“Look, buddy, I’m getting real tired of your shit,” the soldier interrogating Avdol growled in English, and there was grunting and a shout of indignant surprise and anger as the group presumably forced their way into the house.

“Fan out.”

Shit. Bruce bolted down the short hallway, slipping into his room unnoticed as the altercation continued in the foyer of the small house.

“You will do no such thing,” Avdol said harshly, voice raised slightly. “What gives you the right to come into my father’s property?”

There were more angry voices as the lead soldier and Avdol exchanged words, but Bruce was more preoccupied with trying to push the dresser in front of the window out of the way so that he could make a hasty escape.

The distinct sound of a door swinging open made him whip around and he immediately cursed himself and his luck and every god that did or did not exist.

“Come with us nice and easy, Banner, and maybe we don’t charge your friend for obstruction of justice,” said a soldier, hands steady on the trigger of the tranquilizer gun as he glowered at the brunet.

“I’m not sure that’s how it works,” Bruce retorted sharply, taking a small step back as he edged away.

“Magician’s Red!”

Suddenly, the room was like a sauna, and only growing hotter. Avdol stood in the doorway, arms crossed as he scowled at the soldier opposing Bruce. The Egyptian pointed past Bruce and suddenly the window shattered open and the fugitive dove out of the room like flames were licking his ass. 

He never thought about the mysterious heatwave or the fact that Avdol hadn’t even broken a sweat despite the fact it was surely over 100°F in that room. He didn’t question the broken window or the gust of air past his ear that had accompanied it. He didn’t even want to know about the mysterious smell of smoke that had lingered on his clothes for the rest of the day.

As long as he had gotten away, he didn’t care about the circumstances. So what if Avdol seemed to be some sort of pyrokinetic mutant? He’d saved his life and given him food, so he couldn’t complain.

The next week, Bruce prepared to go to South America.


	2. Clint Barton and Noriyaki Kakyoin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone and welcome to chapter two. I don't like this chapter as much as the first one, but I hope you guys will like it. Thank you for all the feedback and the enthusiastic response. 
> 
> You're all great, I'm very tired, let's get to the chapter.

_**Alexandria, Egypt, 2008.** _

It was about 2 am in the morning when Clint broke into the hospital via an open window. Sure, he would admit that sounded morally dubious. He was in the middle of something many might consider morally dubious at the moment, anyway. SHIELD had sent him on a mission to finish off (“Assassinate. Can we just call it an assassination? It sounds cooler.”) an American mob boss involved in lots of child trafficking who was in the hospital after a betrayal from one of his mafiosos.

The boss had holed up in some very fancy hospital in Egypt, hoping the law would be unable to find him. He was wrong. Well, not really. The law would find his corpse.

The well-shined linoleum floor squeaked the moment that Clint’s tactical boots made contact with them. There was a rustle as the person in the bed moved. The squeak hadn’t been that loud. How did he end up in the room with the most sensitive sleeper to exist?

The archer took another squeaky step, and this time the occupant sat up straight. There was a click as the lamp was turned on and the patient looked around the room. Or, he would be looking around the room if not for the bandages tightly wrapped around his eyes. The patient was a boy, a teen, with light skin and very red, choppily cut hair with a long strand in his face. He wore a pair of dangly earrings that swayed with every moment of his head.

It seemed as if he had injured his eyes. Perhaps he was blind. Poor guy.

 _“Hello? Who’s there?”_ the teen asked in (very bad) Arabic, sweeping right over Clint as he faced the direction of the window.

Then he asked, _“Jojo? Is that you?”_ in excellent Japanese. So, the boy was Japanese. What was he doing in an Egyptian hospital? Well, that wasn’t Clint’s concern.

“...Mr. Joestar?” was the final, tentative inquiry before the teenager fell silent again. Clint waited a few seconds before taking another step. There was no reaction. The red-head was still staring at the window, brows furrowed.

Squeak!

The male’s head whipped towards Clint, shouting, “Hierophant Green!”

Clint just stared at him, utterly and completely confused. He only just refrained from an undoubtedly cheeky “Gesundheit” as the boy began to yell.

“You! Who sent you? Are you one of Dio’s assassins? An enemy stand user?”

What. The. Fuck.

It was good to know that this hospital had a psychiatric ward too. Knowing Clint’s luck, he had hopped right into the window of one and now he was going to have to sneak out while the kid screamed about assassins and nightstands.

The teen was still looking off-center, directly to the left of Clint. The door was about four feet away. He could do this. He would make a quiet retreat and he could forget that this ever happened.

He took a step.

“Emerald splash!”

There was a small explosion directly behind the blond, wallpaper and drywall showering him. Clint didn’t want to be here anymore. He bolted for the door, boots pounding across the squeaky floor as mini-explosions went off behind him. A piece of something unseen cut him, causing blood to gush down his arm from a scratch. He got to the door. It was stuck. Stuck or locked? Had this guy locked him in somehow?

He whirled around to face the patient, who was ‘staring’ straight at him with a cold expression on his face.

“Emerald-“

“Wait!” Clint yelped, then cleared his throat and acted as if his voice hadn’t gone up about three octaves. “Look–“ admittedly poor words– “I don’t know who you are, I don’t know who Dio is, and I don’t know what nightstand you’re talking about or what the hell a hierophant is or why it’s green. I’m here on other business, dude, so please don’t explode my face.” He paused, tense, and prepared to jump out of the way. Not that he could see it coming, but if he threw himself to the ground he would probably be able to dodge most of the damage.

“Why did you come in through my window?” the red-head asked, bristling, but he didn’t explode Clint out of existence. Which was good, because Clint probably would have retaliated with a knife to the kid's throat, which would be tragic, unfortunate, and an awful lot of paperwork. However, there was no way in hell that he was going to let himself get nuked by some teenager and his invisible bombs.

“Classified American stuff. I might be an assassin, but I’m definitely not here to assassinate you.”

There was a long, frigid silence, in which the kid sat there with a frigid expression as if he was considering blowing Clint to kingdom come anyway.

“Leave.”

Clint was more than happy to, darting out the now-unlocked door and speeding down the hallway as he went to go find his target.

-

“So, yeah, funny story, Coulson. Off the books, of course. After I went through the window, undetected as you know, I came across a patient. Teenager. Red-headed. Japanese. Blind, at least temporarily. Had bandages over his eyes,” Clint rambled. Coulson let out a noncommittal noise and raised an eyebrow as if saying _‘get on with it._ ’ After all, this was a debriefing and there were mountains of paperwork awaiting the both of them afterward. Clint may have been stalling just a little.

“Yeah, and he sorta threw invisible bombs at me until I left his room, accusing me of being an assassin of some dude named Dio and calling me an ‘enemy stand user.’ Dude didn’t chill until I told him I wasn’t with Dio and I told him to stop trying to explode my face.”

“Invisible bombs?” his handler repeated, voice flat in the way that Clint knew was either ‘stop fucking with me’ or ‘I’m not impressed.’ He had yet to decide which one it was.

“Yeah, he kept saying ‘emerald splash’ and I think he locked the door with his mind or something so I couldn’t leave. Do you think he was a mutant? Should SHIELD contact Charles Xavier? That’s a pretty dangerous power for someone who’s so trigger happy, no?”

“To be fair, you broke into his hospital room,” Coulson mused, but at Clint’s deadpan look sighed and asked, “Do you know his name?”

“Uh…no, but at one point he called me Mr. Joestar?”

Coulson scoffed-- likely the most emotion he would express all month--, rolling his eyes. “Joestar. The name of real estate mogul. If he knows Joestar, your invisible bomb friend is likely affiliated with the SPW as well.”

“SPW?”

“The Speedwagon Foundation. A large organization with its HQ located in D.C. They don’t cooperate with us and Director Fury nor the council presses them to.” Coulson shook his head. “Amongst their advances in medicine and the environment, they also focus on the supernatural.”

“I mean, isn’t that kinda what SHIELD does?” Clint inquired, thinking of a (totally not classified) file of a scientist turned gamma-rage-monster he had read.

“Supernatural like ghosts and vampires, Barton. Stuff that doesn’t exist. Most everything that SHIELD has found can be somewhat easily explained through scientific means.”

“Oh. So they’re just weird?”

“Yup.”

“Ah.”

There was a brief silence. Coulson clicked his pen, features rearranging to something blander and more Coulson-esque.

“Now that that’s off your chest, can we continue with the debrief Agent Barton?”


	3. Tony Stark and Joseph Joestar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Chapter three. I'm super tired. School has completely wiped me out. Expect way slower updates. I won't abandon this though. I have another multi-chapter crossover planned depending on how this all ends up being received. I have the next chapter of this pre-written, but the rest are not, so...oof

**_New York, New York, 2012._ **

It was a Monday afternoon and Tony was standing outside some sort of thrift shop wondering if it was really worth it. He’d lost a bet to Clint, which was nothing new, honestly. He had to buy a bunch of antique cameras now, which was also fine. He loved to waste money on frivolous things. The part that he wasn’t enthused about was the fact that he had to buy the cameras for Steve out of all people. Recently Capsicle seemed to have been being super nice to him, trying to befriend him, and Tony wasn’t having that. But he was sure if he gave Steve all these cameras, the other would see it as an olive branch.

Friendship with Steve or admitting ultimate defeat to bird brain, after already losing a bet? Which was more humiliating?

Definitely the latter.

Tony took a deep breath, puffed out his chest, and walked into the antique shop.

It was easy enough to find the cameras, but evidently he wasn’t the only one shopping that day. A familiar-looking older man with gray hair and beard in a black turtleneck and a tan overcoat was standing there, closely inspecting each camera. Behind him stood a tall, cranky-looking younger man with a hat drawn over his eyes and a dark hoodie.

The man snapped something in Japanese that sounded very pissed off, but the old man didn’t react, as if he was used to this.

“Jotaro, my boy, give me five more minutes and we can leave. Then, we can go to an aquarium,” replied the old man. His voice was deep and laced with a faint British accent. Suddenly, recognition struck Tony. He smirked, approaching the pair with a cocky air. Immediately, Jotaro’s eyes— a piercing blue— were focused on him, glowering at him as he approached.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the great real-estate mogul, Joseph Joestar.”

Joseph stiffened for only a split second before he turned to Tony, an almost long-suffering, wholly unamused expression on his face. “Tony Stark. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

It had been a long time since the two had last talked. As part of both being absurdly wealthy, they often found themselves at the same philanthropic fundraisers. Admittedly, they ran completely different circles because Joestar was in real estate and _way_ old. Not to mention, Joestar was closely associated with the SPW, which made him weird enough in himself. In addition, he would admit that the two of them didn’t get along the greatest. Joseph was smart and cocky and witty and _he_ was smarter and cockier and wittier, so it was only natural they were rivals.

“I’m just here to pick up a few antique cameras for a coworker. You? Forgotten how a smartphone works, perhaps?”

Joseph barked out a laugh. “As if. I’m a collector. Just showing my grandson here how to choose properly,” he said, then turned to the tall man beside him. “Say hi Jotaro.”

Jotaro did not say hi, instead continuing to glower at Tony in a menacing manner. Joseph shrugged. “He’s shy.” He reached past the engineer’s head for a camera and Tony could hear each click of his mechanical joints underneath the glove. He needed an upgrade, clearly. Or some door oil.

“Still holding onto that crappy hand from the SPW? SI prosthetics are the way to go, Joseph.”

Joseph scoffed, withdrawing, though he rubbed his wrist almost subconsciously. “I bet you’re only saying that because of how much people have invested in it since the Incident.”

“Is that what we’re calling it now? Not the time Tony Stark aka Iron Man and co. heroically saved the city?” Tony smirked as both Joseph and Jotaro rolled their eyes simultaneously. “You may have won the last altercation we had, but I think that automatically puts me up about two points. Unless _you’ve_ ever saved the world.”

The older man went very still, staring at Tony with an unreadable expression. Then he looked away, a knowing smile spreading across his face. He looked like he knew something that the brunet didn’t and Tony hated being out of the loop.

“Noted, Stark,” was all Joestar said, then turned to Jotaro and ordered, “Pick up as many cameras as you can carry.”

In one large sweep, all the antique cameras had been taken off the shelf and were being walked to the counter. Tony spluttered in pure indignation. How _rude_. They knew he was there to buy a camera and they were going to take them all anyway? No one did that to him— he did that to other people!

He slipped past them, reaching the register first. “I want to buy all those cameras.”

“No can do,” said the woman at the counter.

“Why not?”

“This gentleman bought the whole stock the moment he walked in!” the woman chirped, eyes bright. Tony growled, rummaging in his pocket for his wallet.

“Next you’ll say... _do you know who I am? I’ll pay you double what he bought them for_ ,” Joseph intoned, though Tony barely heard it.

“Do you know who I am? I’ll pay you double what he bought-“ realization struck him and a chill went down his spine as his mouth went slack. He whirled around, slamming a finger into Joseph’s chest with a snarl on his face. Or, he would have if his finger had ever made it to that destination. He found his arm stuck midair like it was being held, grappled. He stepped back, tugging his hand away as he narrowed his eyes, ignoring the internal alarm that made his heart beat faster.

The gray-haired man gave him an absolutely cocky smile, looking down at him with those sharp green eyes. “Don’t worry, Stark. I might’ve won this one, but I’m sure you can find some antique cameras elsewhere.”

Tony spluttered in a very un-Tony-like manner as Joseph walked out the door of the store, his grandson bumping shoulders with the engineer with something that resembled a smirk.

“So Jotaro, the aquarium?” was the last thing that the brunet heard from the other businessman before he was gone, leaving Tony in a state of annoyance, anger, and bitterness.

 _God_ , he hated Joseph Joestar.


	4. Peter Parker and Jotaro Kujo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Welcome to chapter four. I actually wrote this chapter before I wrote the rest of the fic and I think you can tell. I am not a very good Spiderman.
> 
> I can't thank you enough for the responses to this piece. They give me life and I appreciate every single one of them.
> 
> I must stress that I would like NO SPOILERS for anything past Part 4. I still have not watched Part 5 and I was slightly spoiled by a comment that someone left earlier. 
> 
> Anyway, without further ado, chapter 4.

_**Queens, New York, 2016.** _

It had been a relatively slow patrol on a relatively slow and sluggish day. It was an awfully hot day in Queens and the city seemed as tired and overheated as Peter felt. While he knew he could have probably gone home and enjoyed some air conditioning, saving cats from trees was definitely more fun than wading through his piles of physics homework with Ned. The faint ringing of a bank alarm reached Peter’s ears as he swung through the air. Now, as he veered off his course, he was glad that he hadn’t gone back to the apartment. Finally! A little excitement.

“Alright, Karen, what do we got?” he asked, zipping from building to building as he neared the bank. With a final _thwip_ he landed on the roof, peering down onto the floor from the skylight above. What type of bank had a skylight? Weren’t they scared of cat burglars?

“It appears that a masked man with a gun and two accomplices, both armed. There are twelve hostages inside.”

“Right.” Peter grimaced. Always with the hostages. “Should I bust in through the skylight or find another way in?”

“There is a window on the other side of the building that will allow you to enter and remain undetected.”

“On it.”

The teen crawled to the window, which was already open. He had no idea who had managed to do it, but the moment that he made his way inside of the building, he realized why. It was sweltering in there. Perhaps the air conditioning was broken. He perched on the wall, slowly shuffling onto the ceiling as he surveyed the scene from upside down.

One man was barking at the bank teller, a gun shoved in the teller’s face as she hastily removed money from the register. The other two accomplices were facing away, towards the people crowded to one side of the bank. One appeared to have a rifle of sorts, the other a plain handgun.

He had entered unnoticed.

The civilians looked to be relatively unharmed, expressions ranging from anger to fear to a mix of both as the assailant with the pistol approached and began patting people down, clearly looking for any extra change. One icy-blue gaze of bored annoyance caught Peter’s attention, however. A man who looked to be of Asian descent, all dressed in white, wearing a long white overcoat, baggy white pants, and a white hat. He must have really liked the color white. Sure, white was supposed to reflect light, but wasn’t it sort of counterproductive to be wearing like three layers in this kind of heat? Not to mention, the black form-fitting turtleneck. Was this some sort of fashion statement? A bad one, at that.

A woman screamed as the man with a pistol shoved her and Peter tensed, preparing to spring into action. Then, the man in white snapped, “SHUT UP!” His accent was strong, definitely Asian. Japanese, perhaps? “Good grief, there’s nothing that annoys me more than women screaming.”

Yikes. What a douchebag. Someone had pissed in that dude’s cornflakes that morning.

Peter decided he had observed enough and loudly quipped, “Excuse me, pardners, I’m the sheriff in this here town. Hey, fellas, who robs a bank anyway? What year is it? The 1800s? Are your getaway horses waiting outside?”

Three guns and three heads snapped to him as the man near the bank teller gasped, “Spiderman!”

“Sheriff Spiderman to you,” the boy replied cheekily, and swung down from the ceiling, wasting no in planting his feet into the ring leader’s chest as he used the man as an impromptu springboard.

The leader staggered back, not even having a single moment to aim his weapon before it was torn out of his hands and stuck to the front of the desk with a few webs. Another few well-placed webs had the man immobilized against the wall. Peter turned to take on the other two, but whatever witty remark was to leave his mouth evaporated completely as the rifleman (robber no. 2, Peter uncreatively dubbed him) aimed his gun at him and the man with the handgun (robber 3) clicked the safety of his weapon off, point-blank with the chest of the very tall— holy shit, he was _super_ tall— man with the white coat. The cold glare that the man gave them was enough to make Peter’s spider-sense tingle, but the criminals held true.

“You let us go or they die!”

“Woah, woah!” Peter exclaimed as Karen ran calculations in front of his eyes. The probability of that being a fatal shot was pretty high, especially at that proximity. If he could just get closer and shove the man out of the way… “Dudes, it’s surely a couple of thousand bucks. I mean, if you shoot them that’s gotta be a murder charge and that’s like...more than a couple thousand bucks bail!” he chattered, slowly edging closer.

“Would you like me to call Mr. Stark for assistance?” Karen asked and Peter immediately exclaimed, _“No!”_ because he definitely had a handle on this situation and Mr. Stark would completely verbally obliviate him for something like this.

It was at that point when the man in white sighed heavily, pulling his oddly decorated cap— were those _anchors?_ — lower over his eyes. “Good grief. Hurry it up. I’ve got somewhere to be, you idiots. If you’re going to shoot me, just shoot me.”

Peter didn’t know whether to be offended at being called an idiot or shocked by the sheer amount of balls the blue-eyed man had to speak so harshly to someone who was holding him at gunpoint. Judging by the look on the robber’s faces, they didn’t know how to feel either. Then the man just rolled his eyes and simply shouldered past Robber 3, who gaped after him. Then, his eyes narrowed and there was a bang and screaming and a barked, _“Star Platinum, the world!”_ , whatever that meant. Peter shot into action, arm outstretched to use a strand and pull the white-coated man away, but then something went awry.

His web never reached the man because he was now on the other side of the bank, glaring daggers into the unconscious and crumpled forms of both robbers. _What the fuck._

“Karen, what the hell just happened?” he whispered shrilly, frantically, as he tried to wrap his own mind around it. In less than a second, the man in white had dodged a bullet, taken down his assailants, and crossed the room. Every single hair on Peter’s body was standing up, spider-sense screaming for him to watch out, danger. Meanwhile, the man in white merely looked more and more annoyed with the shock of those around him, gaze sweeping over Peter and landing right over his shoulder as if expecting something.

Then, the man frowned deeply, dark brows furrowed, turned, and with a dramatic swish of his coat that could rival Nick Fury’s, left the bank leaving Peter with screaming civilians, three unconscious thieves, and a whole lot of questions.

While swinging home, he asked Karen to send the footage from his suit to Mr. Stark and run facial recognition. Immediately, a hit came up. A police record from Japan in 2008 featuring a much younger, much meaner-looking man in a Japanese school uniform. Name: Jotaro Kujo. At the time he was 17, almost 18. Arrested for assault, but all charges were dropped and the crime was wiped from his record. Notes from the arresting officer were in Japanese, but when translated by Karen read: _“Suspect claims to be possessed by an evil spirit.”_

Which, obviously the Kujo guy was delusional because spirits didn’t exist. A mutant, obviously. Just your run of the mill, crazy mutant that could punch, run, and glare a hole through your body.

...right.

Peter could barely sleep that night, wondering what type of _‘evil spirit’_ could move a man so quickly as to be completely undetectable to even the enhanced eye.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you all enjoyed! Comments and kudos are not mandatory, but they really, really make my day. I appreciate and cherish any kind words you find the time to leave me even if I don't respond because I am incredibly awkward.
> 
> Thanks,  
> Red


End file.
